


the six step guide to getting over hinata shouyou

by inoko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Overthinking, Pining, no like. Oh whoa is me everytime Hinata looks at him dramatic, tobio is so fucking dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoko/pseuds/inoko
Summary: Hinata Shouyou, resident bundle of joy, is a walking, talking, quick-set-hitting human magnet and may present a risk to your health if exposed. Even small amounts of contact can be potentially damaging. Anyone who has fallen victim to him and his bearing is in great danger of succumbing to feelings that they have almost no way of combating, and should read this as soon as it becomes available to them.This guide aims to provide basic information for those who have fallen into his allure, using practical steps to keep the threat as low as possible. The advice provided is based on the most recent research available. The author cannot guarantee that it will eliminate all hazards as circumstances vary depending on the history of your relationship.The Six Step Guide to Getting Over Hinata Shouyou, made for anyone and everyone that needs it, by Kageyama Tobio.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 51
Kudos: 641





	1. the ability to see the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [solicitors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solicitors/gifts).



> This is set at the beginning of the nationals arc! There are quite a few nuances (ex. I didn’t include the height measuring from before camp, kghn fight in places they don't in the manga), but it follows the timeline soundly. Includes a slightly more toned-down version of that one chapter from haikyuubu because I miss the u19 gang
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/gymnastggg/playlist/1bxsC85JQllUY2ECn4FOOm?si=j8UxikHxRWWe3w3G3fL9Zg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I say the word 'tobio thinks' like one billion times in this... I am so sorry in advance... 
> 
> A few warnings: this chapter is a lot of tobio being anxious and obsessing and overthinking and all in all being a dramatic Shakespearean protag. There’s one instance of him getting a paper cut and another of him thinking about feeding into destructive nail-biting but there is no real self-harm.

Kageyama Tobio, “genius” setter with none of the grades to show for it, sits and stares at the notebook in front of him like it had purposefully spat on his shoes and called his mother ugly.

> **1.**

It is with great anguish that Tobio clicks his ballpoint pen once, twice, a few dozen times before his brain starts to tick with annoyance, the instantaneous response to unknowing so deeply rooted in his psyche that it burns. 

His bedroom is an empty expanse of memories long past; a dumbbell he bought when he was twelve on some muscle gain spree lies on the floor and an English book with no breaks in the spine sits parallel to his page.

Tobio wishes his mind could replicate such a thing as his room, where the only items out of place are the countless crumpled balls of paper that have begun to make their home piled up in the wastebasket beside him, a constant reminder of just how _ridiculous_ this is, the way his muddled up feelings are causing him to lose time and effort that could be spent practicing. It’s _ludicrous_ , as Yachi would say, _so foolish, unreasonable, or out of place as to be amusing. Write that down, you two. An example sentence would be, “it's ludicrous that I have been fired"_.

Tobio has another: It’s _ludicrous_ that he is sitting at his desk past 9 pm, pen in hand, forced to sort through a mystery without any leads.

Tobio’s solid judgment is withering faster by the day, and it was barely present enough for the Tobio of thirty minutes ago to pressure himself into writing this stupid list. No matter what these feelings are, distaste, annoyance, some combination of the two, he _hates_ them, and he will not allow them to rule his already complicated life. Tobio needs to flee far, _far_ away no matter what— and sure, this is really nothing more than some eleventh-hour last attempt to avoid getting even worse, but—

_Wait. Avoid? Avoid, that could work..._

> **1\. Avoid him like the plague.**

That doesn’t sound right. What could possibly be worse than the plague, Tobio asks himself. Someone popping all the balls in the Karasuno gym? Milk stock tanking? Oikawa Tooru? A flubbed set at the height of a game? 

Yeah, probably that.

> **1\. Avoid him like ~~the plague~~ a flubbed set.**

The “him” in question is the _bane_ of Tobio’s existence. A riddle without a punchline. A problem with no answer. There is just something about him that rubs Tobio the wrong way, but for three hundred and eighty-seven reasons that, even with a surplus of deduction skills, Tobio would not be able to figure out. He had been given no guide, no clues, and every day spent with him makes Tobio lose a little bit more of his mind.

Tobio is a detective’s nightmare— strings upon strings connecting endless useless concepts of whatever he is clearly misinterpreting. There is a culprit, and there are feelings. Tobio has never felt like this about anyone, for anyone. So what could it be? What is it that he has never known?

The dumbass is clumsy, uncoordinated, dense as shit— but so are a lot of people. Watching him screw up did bother Tobio slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the twist in his gut that arrived as a plus one with their first introduction. Is it the wasted potential? Maybe at the beginning, yes, but that hadn’t been the case for a while, now; he had found his footing, even if there was a long run for him up the road.

Is it the insistence on invading Tobio’s personal bubble at any point in time? How, _technically_ , just based on height, he can jump higher than Tobio? That one instance of him stealing Tobio’s curry bun right out of his hands and finishing it in one huge gulp?

There are just too many possibilities.

Maybe it’s no more than the way he makes Tobio rethink each and every previous experience he’s ever had in favor of imagining what it would’ve been like with the other in it. His childhood, his family. Just a little bright dot in an otherwise starless sky.

Happier, probably. No— undeniably. Dr. Kageyama Tobio has rightfully earned his degree in the subject of _middle school is nothing short of a fucking shitshow_ , so anything could be better, as is. It would’ve been a lot less lonely if he had been around. Tobio most likely would’ve stayed on the court for the whole season with him added into the equation: a solution that had been missing from the play, that lifted his feet which had once been planted firmly on the ground.

Would there have been after school hangouts, like the ones from recently? Eating lunch together on the roof? Tobio has yet to work up the nerve to actually ask him, but maybe hypothetical-lifetime-alliance-land is more forgiving. Best friends, rivals, and partners from a young age, like Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Would they have that forever-known connection in addition to the one that came like instinct?

They’d be unstoppable if that had been the reality. Revolutionary, at least to the volleyball world. Maybe if Tobio could’ve had this single thing slightly earlier, one new face in a crowd of none, a hand to hold and a partner to toss to… Would they have been dating, by now? Tobio thinks that sounds really nice.

_… Wait. What?_

The realization of what exactly he’s running away from doesn’t hit Tobio as hard as he may have thought it would in the past. It _is_ sudden. It _is_ overwhelming. But it is not cruel, or violent, or cold. It is not the crackling of hardened dirt underneath sleet that he steps on every morning to get to the gym. It feels much more like the slowly rising pressure of cascading water down his back when his shower stalls, or his grandfather’s soup in the very few and far between cases of Tobio coming down with illness.

It doesn’t stop the hollow groan he can’t help but let out, however, and it reverberates against the walls that shield him from the rain and the pour and the Hinata Shouyou that resides outside them. 

“Tobio? Are you alright?” His mother’s voice laced with concern and something one could only describe as “motherly exasperation” calls from behind his bedroom door. Today is one of the few days she gets off a year, and Tobio has to spend it alone in his room, forced to make a _guide_ for himself. The guide to getting over a boy you didn’t know you liked until two minutes ago, a boy who could never like you back, a boy was never meant to be yours in the first place.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Kageyama Tobio is absolutely, positively _not_ okay.

—

Avoiding your volleyball partner and maybe-probably-definitely best friend after you realize you have feelings for him at 9:36 pm on an inconspicuous Sunday is much easier said than done. _Much_ easier.

“Kageyama!” 

Of course, _presumably_ , it would be hard to ignore the person you spent 70% of your time with and raced every morning and practiced volleyball with late into the evening and texted when you didn’t know a math problem (like hell would you ever text Tsukishima) even though he knows less than you do.

Tobio is going to try anyway because he’s not a quitter.

Ignoring the way said boy’s (way too unrealistically orange) hair outshines the early morning sun and directs all light into Tobio’s unsuspecting eyes, he trudges on. He can feel his face set into a murderous glare, one Hinata would’ve been terrified of just months prior, but now his partner just dashes in front of Tobio to poke his forehead right where his eyebrows furrow.

“Kageyama? Are we not going to race today?”

Tobio has always been vaguely aware of Hinata’s generally distracting radiance— he is, after all, white heat incarnate— but now that Tobio is purposefully evading such a terrible, awful, glorious thing like his partner’s eye sparkles (since when do eyes _sparkle_ ), it seems to have gotten even worse. Looking down at him, Tobio can see each individual light eyelash that frames his pupils and the way his lips tilt to the right just so and his itty bitty button nose and his little quirked eyebrow above his, again, _sparkly_ eyes, and oh my _god_ are those _freckles_ —

“Hello? _Kageyama_?” Hinata voices again, this time with visible concern because Tobio has stopped in the middle of the pathway to stare at Hinata with the permanent scowl he has to hold in case he accidentally confesses right here, right now.

With a solemn grunt followed by a deep, trembling sigh, Tobio pulls back and runs past Hinata as fast as he can. 

The chill of the early November air stings his face as he runs, and Hinata’s yells of “Headstart!” and “No fair!” go in one ear and out the other. He can feel himself relaxing under the pressure of wind resistance and he forgets about Hinata and his dumb eyes and his stupid face that Tobio wants to reach down to and kiss just once. The thrill of victory as he crashes face first in front of the volleyball room, making a mental check of 133 wins, 131 losses, leaves him breathless for other reasons than the calamity Hinata has burdened him with.

“What’s up with you?” Hinata asks, coming up behind him, just as out of breath as Tobio knows he is himself.

“Nothing,” Tobio spits out, more aggressively than he means. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“No,” Tobio says, very unconvincingly. Hinata cocks one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. Tobio knows he doesn’t even have to touch them to get them to look like that. “Fine. It was a bad dream. Don’t want to talk about it.”

It isn't a lie— Tobio has absolutely no interest in being dishonest with Hinata— because he genuinely hadn’t slept well. He has an equal lack of interest in telling the literal subject of his dreams that he was being tormented due to none other than the countless impossible scenarios his brain can come up with when lovestruck. He knows the nightmares Hinata is probably thinking of are far different than the ones Tobio deals with, the dreams deep-rooted in anxiety over showing up to school naked or a haphazard zombie apocalypse or, for the two of them, no volleyball. Tobio would take any monster from any story, consequences be damned, over wilting flowers and broken hearts.

Hinata extends a hand out to help him up, beaming. “You can take it easy today, then.”

Tobio quickly forgets about his predicament and guffaws at the very idea of him taking it easy in volleyball, allowing Mr. Sunshine Angel to pull his weary body off the floor. Tobio towers over him, like giant men from fairytales or one of the skyscrapers they'll see in a few months during Nationals in Tokyo. It almost makes Tobio laugh, the sheer difference in height, yet not in a way meant to embarrass. It's just cute. Hinata is really cute.

This is getting out of hand.

“You’re _huge_ ,” Hinata groans up at Tobio when he reaches his full height. “I’m so _ooo_ jealous.”

Tobio has always known this, but absolutely hates the way Hinata can just say things like that and think nothing of it. He could see envy in the way Hinata looked at him when they first met, can now spot it in the lingering gazes he catches out of the corner of his eyes sometimes, the hand Hinata rests at the top of his spine when he pushes Tobio onto the bus. But that’s the only emotion Hinata could possibly ever feel for him, really: envy.

“Your height is fine,” He barely manages to respond. “You can jump pretty okay, anyway.”

Shellshocked, Hinata looks just about ready to keel over onto the pavement, and Tobio realizes very quickly what he had just allowed to come out of his mouth. 

No, this is _really_ getting out of hand

Tobio absolutely should not have said that. Isn’t he trying to avoid Hinata? What is he doing racing him like normal and informing him his height is fine? It really wasn’t Hinata’s fault, his height (or lack thereof)— Tobio has never and will never explicitly make fun of him for it, because of this— but the last thing he should be doing is _Tobio-complimenting_ it (a word Hinata coined, the definition being “Kageyama describing things as okay or fine when he really means _super cool_!”). He should be telling him to drink milk and eat more and have better genetics in the first place.

“KAGEYAMA?” Hinata bellows, right in Tobio’s face, squeezing his hand even harder than he had when pulling Tobio up off the floor. His breath is minty. “DID YOU REALLY JUST SAY THAT?”

… _Wait._

Tobio can’t hear him, because suddenly he is exclusively focused on the fact that he has been holding Hinata Shouyou’s hand for the past thirty seconds and neither one of them has let go.

This is the first time Tobio has endured any prolonged physical contact with Hinata outside stretching (which is dreadful as is but necessary for volleyball, a sport Tobio unfortunately plays) and what Ukai likes to call their “play fighting”, but really is just overzealous jabbing.

It’s terrible. It’s awful and terrible and the worst thing that’s ever happened, even worse than that time Tobio fell into a lake chasing a cat or when he almost broke a finger trying to figure out how to use a protractor. Hinata’s hand is warm and soft and absolutely foul and it should be illegal, as far as Tobio is concerned, because no one’s hand should be this nice. 

More important to the current predicament, however, is the fact this prolonged physical contact is definitely, most certainly going to kill Tobio. Tobio is going to die, and it is all Hinata’s fault.

“Let _go_ , dumbass.”

Tobio wills his heart to _tone it down, goddamn it_ , and turns, pulling out the room key from his pocket, shoving it into the slot on the door handle and marching directly into the changing room without a single glance at his partner. Hinata doesn’t even notice the shift in mood and follows after him like some chattering puppy, blabbering loudly about how _The_ Kageyama Tobio told him, _The_ Hinata Shouyou, that his height is okay. He _Tobio-complimented_ it.

Clearly this is the greatest discovery in mankind’s history, and Tobio peels off his jacket and bids good luck to Hinata in his journey to make Tobio say as many embarrassing things as possible. Maybe Tsukishima can give him the number of the Sendai City Museum in order to jot this all down, not that Tobio knows anything about it. He presumes Hinata is the same and doesn’t care to ask.

This is what happens, in the few instances that they are allowed the key to the changing room. They get dressed, Hinata blabbers until he doesn’t have anything else to say, which is never, and Tobio hums in agreement every once in a while, unless Hinata says something stupid, which is a lot. It’s normal. They’re fine. He’s fine. 

His hand is tingling where Hinata had held it in a vice grip. He is not fine.

He is, however, all the way ready, and Tobio once again uses the heavenly gift of legs longer than most and rushes as fast as he can to the gym, in the middle of Hinata’s sentence about his sister throwing one of his volleyballs at his head. Tobio does not feel guilty, because his world is ending at the hands (no, _actual_ hands) of his volleyball partner. Hinata’s power is unlike any Tobio has ever attempted to match. It is petrifying. He refuses to lose.

Tobio forgets about “The Worst Incident of the 21st Century” (that’s what he’s decided to call it) for the entirety of morning practice, many thanks to the _whoosh, slam!_ of a ball over the net, the color of the gym walls and the smell of the air, his mind occupied solely on the precision of each toss he carries to his teammates. Sugawara sends him only one worried glance when they catch a break halfway through, which Tobio thinks means he’s doing a pretty good job of hiding the way his mind sinks to weird places, places with hand-holding and hugs and gross, awful stuff like that, as soon as he’s not completely immersed in the feeling of his fingertips on leather.

Practice ends like it always does, none of his teammates any wiser, and Tobio is left sitting in a locker room that smells like sweaty teenage boys and has way too many posters of idols (there are only two) that Tobio couldn’t pick out of a lineup if his life depended on it. His ears refuse to unfocus from Hinata giggling about something with Tanaka and Nishinoya and he can barely resist his body’s attempts to eat itself alive. It would be incredibly humiliating to die in front of his team before he could even go to Nationals, and he prevails.

Remembering the promise of a school day absent of Hinata’s tender hands and overly enthusiastic voice is all Tobio can do to not look suspicious while packing up faster than everyone else and running out the door for the third time in the past two hours. Tobio gets to his classroom early, which almost never happens, and a few of his more time-sensitive classmates shoot him worried glances. He can feel his face on fire and his breath coming out in gulps, but the only thing he’s concerned about is taking out the tattered old notebook he shoved in his backpack last night.

He clicks his favorite black ballpoint pen a few times before he gets annoyed, settling his hand on the smooth lined paper, and proceeds to jot down his second note.

> **2\. Do not let him touch you. Not in any context. Ever.**

He stands to prove this one. He will not allow Hinata to touch him. It shouldn’t have happened before, and it will certainly not ever happen again.

—

Tobio is going to Tokyo.

He repeats, Tobio is going to _Tokyo_. Tobio is going to Tokyo for a U-19 Camp with the best high school volleyball players across the nation. _Tobio_ is.

 _Hinata Shouyou_ , constantly fluctuating human headache, is not.

Not only will this be a chance for Tobio to meet setters even better than himself and learn more about playstyles before Nationals, but this is also the perfect opportunity to avoid each and every Hinata Shouyou-related problem, of which he has too many.

The days leading up to the camp are bliss. Tobio doesn’t even hear half the things Takeda says because he’s dreaming of the squeak of sneakers against professional floors and advice from an Olympic-level coach. 

_Floors... A camera watching my every move... Setters… Volleyball… Hinata…_

“Get yer head out of yer ass, Tobio-kun!” Miya Atsumu, Inarizaki starting setter, slaps Tobio on the shoulder and hurries back to his position just right of middle court.

Tobio had gotten lost on the way here because Takeda had forgotten to write furigana spellings but happened to make it just on time, thank god. Bumping into Sakusa Kiyoomi five seconds in, noting how unenthusiastic he had seemed, and proceeding to take a fifteen-minute sit down in the parking lot from unadulterated excitement left him here, playing practice matches with some real competition. People he would actually be battling at Nationals. 

_People he would be battling with Hinata… Hinata and him, together at Nationals, and…_

“Tobio-kun!”

_Shit!_

His spike gets stuffed by a player no taller than 170 cm and Tobio falls back down with the grace of a half-ton crate of bricks.

Tobio races against time to analyze. He figures the only reason he hadn’t been able to hit the ball past a single blocker onto the hard floors across the net (what material is this?), was because he had accidentally used his frustration at his inability to smother down his thoughts to smack the ball as hard as he could with no purpose or direction. Or maybe the kid, who Tobio now realizes looks like a seagull attempting to infiltrate human society, is just _that_ good.

Komori Motoya, Itachiyama libero to Sakusa’s Itachiyama ace, is luckily right there to save it because no one written in magazines has any right to be a bad player.

The rally carries on, and Tobio is in the perfect stance to fall naturally into setting, mindful of his heart beginning to race in anticipation as it shifts into a state overwhelmed with longing. It had been hours upon hours since he had fit his hands in that familiar triangle, pads of his fingers finding each groove in a volleyball, and now he is able to finally do the one thing he is most excited to practice here.

And then he actually tosses.

It’s innate behavior, he knows it’s innate behavior, but the ball falls to the floor with a sad _toink_ (seriously, what material is this?) and Tobio is utterly conscious of the fact that the toss he had thrown with his own hands had been a toss made almost exclusively for Hinata.

“Sorry.” He apologizes to no one in particular. “Force of habit.”

Force of habit, indeed. Force of habit because Tobio was thinking about Hinata _again_ , and he can’t even institute his sets for different spikers properly the first time, and what kind of setter even _is_ he?

Tobio gets it much better for the next round, working his very hardest not to fall back into what his body quite frankly _craves_ to do when running on autopilot, turning to his ritual of asking everyone who hits anything of his whether it was too high, too low, too far, too close. Everything is okay. Everything is better now. _Bump, set, spike_. _Bump, set, spike_.

_I really hope Hinata is practicing other things than his spiking, back home. He needs to work on receiving, mostly, and serving, of course..._

A whistle blows.

With one last spike from Sakusa, after what seems like only minutes of practice, everything ends abruptly. Tobio realizes very quickly that he had been thinking about Hinata for the majority of his first day at camp.

He hadn’t been playing with anyone even remotely similar to him in play style, despite a single player present with the same stature, and yet all that his brain had allowed him to conjure was the short, jumpy middle blocker he plays with back home. He had been thinking about Hinata in the place he went to in order to play volleyball. Only volleyball. Volleyball _without_ a dumbass to call for one more over and over and over again. 

Tobio supposes it isn’t really _that_ surprising for him to be subconsciously agonizing over playing without Hinata. That is his partner, after all, the very spiker he honestly believes could be incredible with just more experience, more fine-tuning. He had spent the months previous working on how to make _Hinata_ better, alongside himself, so to practice without thinking of him… that’s not practice at all, at least not to Tobio.

And yet, still: Volleyball by itself is supposed to be _sacred_. Tobio should not be allowing himself the opportunity to make this his reality. He is supposed to be fighting this; he had written a guide! Who gives a shit if volleyball and Hinata came hand in hand, if his entire high school career is being shaped by his partner, if the aforementioned partner lives in Tobio’s mind rent-free. It doesn’t matter if he has feelings for this boy. _Romantic_ feelings. _Admiration_ feelings. _All of the above and more_ feelings.

This isn’t what is supposed to happen. Avoid, not surrender.

When exactly did it become volleyball _with_ Hinata, _against_ Hinata, _beside_ Hinata, one entire whole of a thing? Did it come with the promise on the steps back in middle school? The second, to stand on the world stage together? Two Sundays ago, when the feelings he had been trying to decode hit him deafeningly loud?

More importantly: would it ever just be volleyball _and_ Hinata, two separate entities, again?

—

Dinner is a new experience, exploring the thrilling, untouched territory of a cafeteria filled with experienced players. Back home, his dinner guests are always the background noise of a TV announcer rambling and the tinkering sounds his hands create when wielding pots and pans and spatulas, but there are real voices here, like training camp, and he can make out all the conversations about the day’s practice as clear as day. The food tastes good too, and it’s better than anything he’d be able to make, even if the soup leaves a lingering note in the back of Tobio’s throat that reeks like it was all cooked in big vats in a factory. 

Sakusa, who’s energy today was subpar for a top ace, Tobio thinks, approaches him about halfway through his meal to badger him about Karasuno’s win against Shiratorizawa. There is idle chatter involved that Tobio can’t keep his attention on for more than thirty seconds without each detail of Hinata’s final jump of the game berating his mind, and when he admits that Hinata and Tsukishima were the ones that stopped “Wakatoshi-kun”, Tobio’s actually _proud_. It leaves his bones aching, dangling off the ledge of a cliff far too tall, and he hates it.

Sakusa’s mouth isn’t visible through his mask, but Tobio can plainly see the wobbling frown underneath. “Who was it? What year is he? What’s his name? Where’d he-”

“Sorry about that!” Komori meanders up in the middle of Sakusa’s question, some off-brand version of a guardian angel from storybooks. Tobio thanks him in his head, and remembers he is a very good libero. He is also very tall. “This guy is kinda the most pessimistic person you’ll find on the whole planet.”

Tobio ponders for a moment, in the sudden wake of Sakusa's silence, wondering if he is allowed to ask questions of his own. Karasuno isn’t well known outside of Miyagi, and he presumes the only reason Sakusa is aware of his school’s existence is the same reason he and Ushiwaka are on a first-name basis. He hasn’t ever been afraid of a question before, though, and inquires Sakusa about his lack of aggressive energy, curious whether he isn’t really into the swing of camp yet, or is really just more normal than what people say. 

Sakusa does not seem very happy with this question. Tobio should’ve pondered a little more.

Komori, Sakusa’s cousin/bodyguard/spokesperson, explains that Sakusa currently believes his shoulders aren’t functioning properly, and bad-shoulders-boy just scowls down at Tobio where he sits, trying to eat his food. Tobio wonders if Sakusa and Tsukishima would be good friends. Komori and Yamaguchi, too. 

How long is this camp again?

Sakusa wanders off towards the baths eventually while Broccoli #2, Tobio’s voluntary dinner partner, is abhorred at Tobio’s ability to “accidentally aggravate everyone in his general area”. Tobio doesn’t really see how that could’ve been considered aggravation (it was much more a one-sided stare down) or what he said could’ve been considered rude because it’s true, as is; Sakusa really hadn’t been playing as well as his reputation seemed to deem him, like some godly saint or royal hell-marker. 

“I only said he looked normal _so far_.”

Hinata wouldn’t have acted like that at all, but Hinata is also not a nationally-ranked ace. He would've blown up like Tobio tripped his fuse, yelling and jabbing and "play-fighting". Tobio feels a slight pang in his chest he registers as misplaced homesickness and devours his rice in order to keep his mind occupied.

Of course, he’s still thinking about Hinata. Of course, Tobio can’t just have a minute of peace to enjoy a camp made of all of his favorite things: volleyball, playing volleyball, playing against good volleyball players. Of course, he can’t have that.

“Anyway, everybody here is scary good,” Broccoli #2 comments, his head quirking a little towards the buffet. “Especially that kid. I wonder who he is.”

It’s the 170 cm player again, the one that stuffed Tobio in the middle of an obvious line shot that he’s still mad about. What was his name… Hoshiumi Kourai? He thinks that’s it. Tobio’s never seen him before today.

“Do you know him, Kageyama?”

“Nope,” Tobio answers honestly.

“He’s only, what, 165 cm? Yet he jumps so high! Think he’s as good at jumping as that middle blocker of yours?”

He _does_ jump high, higher than Tobio, higher than Hinata, higher than just about anyone Tobio has ever seen. Hoshiumi had been on the opposite side of the court for most of practice, always in Tobio’s line of vision, a high functioning all-rounder far beyond Hinata’s ability. The only thing he and Hinata have in common is their height. 

“Nope,” Tobio says again with conviction. “He’s better than Hinata.”

Tobio supposes you can’t get into this camp if you’re not good, but Hoshiumi is fantastic, a talent that stands stark white against most of the people here who are 180, 190, 200 cm tall. He would be an incredible study guide, Tobio thinks. He needs to start paying even more attention to his playstyle, to his footing and his jumps. He wonders what Hoshiumi’s training routine is. Is Tobio able to ask him for it? Would Hoshiumi write him a list? Could he give it to Hinata to try?

He’s thinking about Hinata again. 

Tobio packs up his dishes as fast as he can when he’s finished the last few grains of rice in his bowl, throwing them into the little designated area kindly labeled “for dishwasher”, his mind running on anxiety alone. He wishes Broccoli #2 (Tobio should really learn his name) a good evening and takes off down the path Sakusa had passed down mere minutes earlier. 

He follows his routine. He bathes. He brushes his teeth. He stretches and changes into his pajamas. He finds his notebook. He gets his pen. Rituals, and whatnot. It is the same the third time as it was the first.

> **3\. Stop associating volleyball back to him.**

Tobio scowls down at the words in front of him. They make him slightly angry because Tobio has absolutely not a single clue how this is going to work out in his favor. He practices with Hinata every single day. He goes to school with him. They are a ‘set’. How is he even going to do this without removing himself completely from volleyball? Just an hour ago he had planned to categorize each and every movement Hoshiumi makes in order to start teaching Hinata how to maneuver himself around the court.

He looks at the clock, a sour 10:30 already, and lets this be a problem for future-Tobio to work out. Routine almost always triumphs over stress-filled thinking. He flips his notebook shut with a flutter of paper and soft _fwip_ of the cardboard front cover and snuggles, a little baby crow _oh_ so far from home, under the duvet.

—

Tobio has forgotten his usual ability to sleep anywhere at the drop of a hat on top of his desk back in his bedroom.

He knows that it’s an abstract concept, he’s not _stupid_ , but Tobio is overwhelmed with unease anyway, visualizing some formless shape sitting next to his books and his lamp and his mental well-being, and all he can do is attempt to melt into the bed. Tobio is a solid person, however, and not potato starch: he is completely unable to shift into a liquid no matter how hard he wills his muscles to relax.

He tries his best to prepare for sleep despite his exhaustive restlessness, with a few deep breaths and a couple of sheep lost over the fence, but it’s futile when he's this on edge; he has absolutely no plan to counter him obsessing about Hinata tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after, and it is going to drive him crazy. It doesn’t help that his room makes him feel like he’s sleeping in a hospital ward. 

His mattress isn’t as solid as it is at his house, sort of mushy in the worst way, and the sheets smell vaguely of a cheap hotel, and Tobio doesn’t like it at all. He turns to the wall that his bed borders on the right and expects to see his training regimen. It’s not there for obvious reasons, and instead, all that sits in its place is a drawing of some ill-conceived sunrise. 

There’s a lake, in the picture, and a crane that sits on the shore. The painting is mostly orange, marmalade and sandstone and marigold and amber, and it looks like every piece of mediocre motel artwork that people seem to think fits the “atmosphere” of staying away from home. Tobio thinks it’s all fucking stupid, and daydreaming about marmalade made him hungry again.

What even is it about sunrises that’s so great, anyway? He’s seen so many of them, waking up early on weekends to jog a mile or two before Saturday practice; they all look vaguely similar. Meaningless, really. It’s just the sun, the same as every other day. He’s never paid much attention, and he doesn’t plan to.

He wonders if it would be different if Hinata was the one sleeping a short distance away on the other wall, snoring softly (he always denies this habit in the morning, ignoring the multiple of their teammates who have videotaped him doing so). It had become routine for the two of them to intuitively guide their futons next to each other on the floor, back home. It was never weird like this is, and Tobio is starting to regret coming at all, getting increasingly frustrated at past-Tobio’s mistake of forgetting to pack melatonin or a rock to drop on his head repeatedly. He flips over onto his stomach and shoves his face into his pillow, trying his very hardest not to scream.

His mind is finally silent.

But of course, because Tobio can not have anything, there’s the abrupt commotion of a door being slammed open in the hallway, a shiver running down his spine before four distinct voices he remembers from the day’s activities murmur under the door and start chatting about aimlessly.

Tobio can hear them muttering from inside the room next to him soon after. He thinks he catches his name at one point, and definitely the word cockroach (fifteen times now, he’s been counting), and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to sleep like this.

They reach sixteen, Sakusa, the main culprit of disturbing Tobio’s (intended) peaceful slumber, complaining about needing a new room because there’s “No way in hell he will ever stay in a room where a cockroach was”. 

Seventeen, Sakusa proceeds to question the concept of something as useless as the police force against a lowly little cockroach. Tobio genuinely does not know who would win.

And eighteen, as Tobio hears Komori mention the one common rumor that “if there’s one cockroach, there’s thirty”. He registers the gentle click of a lighter, similar-sounding to the one his sister uses to light the half-melted candles she got for her birthday three years ago and still keeps in her usually-empty room. He wonders if they're the same brand. He misses his sister, even though she’s never home.

Sakusa is now threatening arson in the room next door.

_Oh. Sakusa is threatening arson in the room next door._

For the wellbeing of everyone in the building as well as Tobio’s poor, poor sleep schedule, he flips the sheets over onto the other side of the bed, grumbling as he slinks across the room (careful enough not to wake his roommate). He finds some materials from his bag after some idle searching and slips out the entryway.

The door leading to the uproar to the room next to his is wide open and the view into the bed space is clear from where he stands. Tobio can see the four thieves of his silence all huddled together, a few feet away from what he presumes is the offending desk with the little fucker. 

Hoshiumi dangles off of Sakusa’s arm like he is a kid at recess. He must really have liked the monkey bars when he was little. Or maybe he just likes annoying Sakusa.

Komori stands to the side and looks on with glee. Tobio questions whether this is his fault. 

Atsumu has his limbs crowded around Sakusa’s middle, which Tobio knows would be the end of the world usually, but Mr. Wing Spiker Ace Extraordinaire seems much more concerned with the current problem at hand. Tobio is offhandedly aware that Atsumu is over the moon about the indifference from Sakusa, face contorted into a smile ridden with sadism and something else that Tobio can't pinpoint, but feels oddly familiar. He watches Komori’s delighted grin fade into something more like disgust when he catches the two of them together. Tobio shares the sentiment. 

Tobio steps into the room amongst the chaos to grasp Sakusa's shoulder. He hopes he doesn’t look too much like a zombie, eyes dark and heavy from the deviation in his schedule, and his hopes are thoroughly denied by the universe when Sakusa jumps.

“You guys are too loud. I can’t sleep.” 

Sakusa’s words have a little twinge of agony threatening to spill over as he removes Tobio’s hand with his thumb and pointer finger and reaches into his pocket in order to retrieve a little plastic bottle, squeezing an obscene amount of hand sanitizer onto his palm. Is Tobio a diseased raccoon? “Kageyama…”

“Listen, Kageyama!” Hoshiumi’s voice is as loud and grating as one would expect from a human-seagull hybrid. “Sakusa—”

“I heard. It’s a cockroach, right?”

Now, Tobio does not care about being valiant in the slightest. He just wants to get to bed. This is not some rescue mission or Disney Movie: it is merely getting rid of a tiny, scampering enemy. Yet there is something incredibly satisfying about his three new volleyball acquaintances (friends?) reacting in utter shock at the way Tobio waltzes up to the bug and easily scoops it up like a piece of tuna.

“You… You're all right with bugs?” Sakusa asks, his own version of beseechment in his voice, an unspoken request asking Tobio to never leave his side and dispose of every disgusting thing he comes across. Tobio does not answer his plea.

He does, however, think for a second as he ties up the bag, recalling a scuttling little person that is probably sleeping soundly in his bed back in Miyagi. “I guess? It’s small, quick, and scampering… I’m used to dealing with that sort of thing.”

He can hear them whispering as he walks out of the room, wishing them all a good night, but the voices disperse shortly following his exit. Tobio stares for a while at the offending sunrise painting that still hangs on his wall, and eventually, after his toils have become exhausting rather than agitational, he is able to let his eyes close and his body still.

His dreams that night are fragile and vague; like they could collapse around him at any moment and leave him wading through the empty darkness Tobio imagines resides outside his conscious mind.

There is a marsh, and there are some birds, and there is Tobio. He stumbles through lukewarm pond water, searching through weeds and muck and all things icky for something, but he’s not quite sure he knows what it is yet.

“What are you looking for, Tobio?” A friendly turtle asks him where it sits on a rock nearby. Tobio is troubled by the smirk it gives him.

“I don’t know,” He responds like it’s natural for a turtle to be speaking. He supposes it is, in this world, where the freezing water pricks his skin and cattails sway, despite their thick stalks. There’s no need for any explanations, in a dream.

The turtle looks confused, but chuckles in reply. “Well, I hope you find it.”

Tobio continues combing through water plants and gravel as the turtle hops off its place on the rock and finds another busy human to bother.

“Tobio?” A duck swims up to see him next. Its feathers are very white. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something.”

“I see,” The duck choruses. “And what are you looking for?”

Tobio only grumbles something ambiguous and continues to search. He noticed a while ago that it is nighttime, here, wherever he is. There are no stars in the sky. Tobio doesn’t know what he’s seeing anymore. He isn’t quite sure if he can even see at all.

“Tobio?”

Tobio turns harshly to glare at the field mouse that called him. It sits on the bank, defensive position engaged with its hands in front of its little face. It is cute and small and jittery. Tobio feels the blood run to the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t know why.

“You’re not going to ask me what I’m looking for, are you?” He hisses. He would really have no reason to be this frustrated if he wasn’t losing time talking to animals.

“No,” The mouse shakes its tiny head and glances to look at Tobio right in the eye. “I meant to ask you what you’re forgetting.”

What _he’s_ forgetting?

Tobio cannot see beyond the trees that grow in straight lines behind the mouse. There is no noise in this dream. The sky is very dark, and the mouse is very orange. Tobio notices that the beady eyes that look at him now are the only warm things around. He lets go of the grass he had ripped from the mud.

“I can’t remember.”

—

When Tobio gets home from camp, he meets Hinata by the bike racks in front of the school. There is nothing special about their meeting. It’s just coincidence, he swears. They did not plan this. 

Doesn’t that make it even worse, though? _Fate_ , or something? The sunrise that dims in comparison to the boy in front of it? Tobio hates himself, and he hates that stupid painting back in Tokyo.

He has given up on the first step of the list already— it’s basically impossible to avoid Hinata because of their whole ‘volleyball partners’ and ‘he won’t leave me alone even if I vehemently ignore him’ thing— but that does not mean Tobio is going out of his way to contact Hinata by any means. He should have come later, or earlier, or not at all. He should have just stayed home today. And for the next 3 years. Maybe his mom would let him take online classes?

The two of them run mindlessly, another step in _their_ ritual, something completely separate from the schedule Tobio has to maintain in order to remember to function. Hinata wins this time, crashing face-first in front of the door like Tobio had done the day after writing his list. They sit and talk about what they had done the past week, one of the first times they had ever been separated for longer than a day or so since middle school. Neither of them has a key. 

They toss to each other in the courtyard beside the clubroom instead, Tobio recounting his time at camp, Hinata talking about being a ‘ballboy’ (Tobio is very curious about how this happened). They bicker. It’s normal. Everything is okay. Everything will be fine.

“Hey, wanna come over after school today?” Hinata asks, sadly not a mind reader, unable to take into account how Tobio shouldn’t even be talking to him right now. Tobio should be running as far away as he can.

 _I could do that_ , he thinks, _Go over to Hinata’s house. I could meet his mom. And his sister. Oh, that’s kind of scary. But invigorating? He’s only ever come over to mine, before. In fact, I really, really want to go_.

 _But I know I will never, ever be able to_ , his instinctive terror concludes, and Tobio says as such. He will allow himself to lie to Hinata this one time.

“I can’t. Sorry. My mom needs me home today.”

“But you said last week that this was the only day you were free!” The harsh tone of Hinata’s voice rattles inside his head like a die in a Yahtzee cup. When was the last time Tobio played Yahtzee, anyway? He thinks it was probably with Hinata. “Why do you keep having things to do? What does your mom even want from you? She works constantly. And don’t forget that time you told me you had to feed the cat when I am absolutely positive you _don’t_ have any animals.”

“Jesus, Hinata, I just can’t hang out today, okay?” Tobio seethes. “We can reschedule.”

Hinata takes a deep breath of air, stumbling forward into Tobio’s space, sounding as if his lungs are caving in on him. Tobio sees his eyes are watery. He is barely able to ignore the desire to wipe them dry. “I’m _tired_ of rescheduling, Kageyama! I had planned to ask you for weeks because you never have time for m— to hang out anymore, out of nowhere, might I add, and it’s not fair that—”

“You two better not be arguing right after getting back!” Tanaka calls from beside the courtyard, strolling up to meet the two of them in their place on the dirt.

“Hello!” Hinata responds cheerfully, mouth widening into a broad-faced grin as if they _weren’t_ just arguing fifteen seconds ago, right in front of their upperclassman’s eyes.

Tobio does not have the same luck with emotional control. “Hi.”

“Whoa, Kageyama, you sound glum!” Tanaka laughs and claps him on the back. “Did Hinata beat you in your race to the gym today, or something?”

“Or something.”

Tobio watches Hinata and Tanka chatter about casually like it’s just another day. Tobio supposes it is, but each new step onto the dirt and on the clanking metal of the stairs that leads up to their changing room is another step closer to Tobio’s inevitable doom, which is the destruction of volleyball as a whole.

He hadn’t been able to separate Hinata and volleyball at all. What he had failed to mention to his partner while recounting his time was that the entire week he had suffered, subconsciously _and_ consciously while using Hoshiumi as a reference, planning exactly what he was going to teach Hinata when he got home. It got so bad that by the last day he had written _another_ list just on the muscles in the bottom of the foot. 

How was he even going to bring this up, now?

“Oi,” Tobio says without thinking for a single second. “You can fly higher. Much higher.”

Hinata turns his head to squint down at Tobio where he stands on the fourth stair from the bottom. Hinata is taller than him, at that moment, but it doesn’t feel wrong or unnatural like this, Tobio only able to look up at him where his head meets the horizon. Tobio can imagine that Hinata belongs in the sky, with all of life’s unrefined treasures, every planet and moon and star alike. He is the whole universe, Tobio thinks, and he has never been wrong in his life.

Hinata gets distracted by Nishinoya calling his name, does not answer, and takes the next step up.

Morning practice is bad. Their quick is way off. Hinata is not talking to him. Tobio had been trying to focus on tossing but it’s hard when one of his hitters refuses to look his way, does not call for a toss, just jumps and lands, jumps and lands, jumps and lands. He absolutely hates repetition as it means for Hinata.

Yachi keeps looking at them, an expression ridden with confusion and misery ever present on her face, and Tobio assumes that, to her, this is just like the summer. He wants to reassure her that it isn’t, it’s nothing like the fight she had to witness, with cuts and bruises that ran deeper than their skin, but he cannot even reassure himself.

Just like every practice, every moment, every new morning, though, it ends. Tobio moves to his classroom, slow and languid and exhausted from feeling, and sits at his desk with a tornado in his head as the teacher berates him for running a minute behind. His classmates do not look at him more than once.

He needs a new rule, something that will get him out of every interaction with Hinata that isn’t necessary. Something that sums up everything he is unable to do. He pulls out his notebook and thinks for a very, very long time.

Tobio clicks his favorite black ballpoint pen a few times before he gets annoyed, as soon as an idea pops into his head, and settles his hand on the paper. He jots down his fourth note. He was here when he wrote his second step, wasn’t he? Deja vu.

> **4\. When he asks you to do something, say no.**

This time, different from before, he rips out the piece of paper and sticks it in his club jacket that currently lays on top of his bag. He needs to start carrying the list around with him, to remind himself over and over just why exactly he’s placed himself in the middle of combat. He’s fighting for _volleyball_ , here, _friendship_ , even, and he cannot lose. This is a battlefield, and he refuses to fall onto the dirt underneath.

They are off at afternoon practice too, of course they are, because Hinata is still sulking like a sunflower in the rain. Tobio is somehow able to feel the frustration radiate off him in waves, but unlike sound waves or radio waves or microwaves, these hit him right in the gut and knock him clean onto the floor like the spike from Tanaka that smacks him in the head. He has to take a five-minute break, after that, and the wound on his forehead will not be going away anytime soon.

It really would make sense for Hinata to be the universe after all, because two minutes into his break, Tobio is graced with the positively _lovely_ tall, lanky presence of one Tsukishima Kei, who leans against the wall Tobio sits next to. Tobio cusses Hinata out in his head for being mad at him, because no one, not even your worst enemy, ever deserves divine punishment such as this.

“Why were you so zoned out earlier, your majesty?” Tsukishima’s voice has a lilt in it that sounds like how Tobio imagines car tires taste. “And why aren’t you and the tiny pipsqueak talking?

“None of your business,” Tobio will not give Tsukishima the benefit of getting on his nerves.

“I know you like him.”

Tobio will be giving Tsukishima the benefit of getting on his nerves.

“Whoa, tiger, slow down there,” Tsukishima pushes down on Tobio’s head where he had almost managed to get up on his feet, and wipes his hand on his shirt after Tobio sits back down. Bastard. “I don’t care, and there’s nothing for me to gain by telling anyone. I just wonder why you haven’t told him. You’re both disgustingly obvious, and I’m, quite frankly, tired of seeing you two attempt to flirt in your own little way.”

“Huh?!”

“You heard what I said just fine. Or are you really that stupid? Would you like me to say it _louder_?”

Tobio makes the active choice not to punch Tsukishima in the face, but he really wants to. “I don’t know. He doesn’t like me back, so what’s the point?”

“You’re playing with me, right? This is your idea of humor? You should pick up a joke book or something because that wasn’t funny at all—”

Tobio can hardly hold back a growl. “ _Shut. Up_. It’s not like you’d ever know what it’s like. It’s fucking terrifying.” 

“Then what are you afraid of, King?” Tsukishima lets his customary smirk settle on his face as if it’s simply a new pair of glasses to fit his gigantic head. “What hasn’t happened yet? The unknown? You’re always so audacious on the court. Why is this any different?”

Tobio doesn’t even know what audacious means, and especially doesn’t know how to answer that, but he will try, because he has never and will never be a quitter, even now.

“No,” He muses. “I don’t fear things on court because it excites me when I don’t know what’s going to happen, even if I can guess. I have no experience in this, but I already know exactly how it’s going to play out. Down to the letter.”

Tobio knows that he could never fear things unknown. There is no ghost or spirit or monstrous entity that could ever hurt him more than that which he can already predict, and there is no way Tobio will allow himself to lose the only thing he has ever had go right for him _besides_ volleyball (even if they are pretty much the same thing). He knows that Hinata does not like him back. He knows what Hinata will say when he rejects him.

 _“Oh, really?”_ He’d reply, distaste woven into his words. _“Well, you’re just my partner. Barely a friend. Sorry.”_

Tobio checks the clock and notes that his five minutes are up. He marches off the sidelines, away from his own personal karma and calls to ask Asahi to help him practice his tosses a little before they all clock out for the evening, the sun having already set.

“Hey, Kageyama?” Hinata asks him, uncharacteristically deciding to break his silent treatment, as the rest of the team files out of the gym. “What did you mean by ‘You can fly higher’?”

Tobio praises whatever gods reside in the heavens that they allowed Hinata to admire his volleyball skills, and inherently listens to what he says because of such, even while angry.

Until, of course, he tries to show Hinata exactly how Hoshiumi had jumped with the ball of his foot, gets frustrated because Hinata couldn’t have been listening to him, if his jump is drifting like that, and they both get yelled at by Daichi to go home barely ten minutes after they start.

“I thought you had something to do for your mother today?” Hinata says, unimpressed as they change in a silence that clings thick and heavy to the space between them. 

“Yeah,” Tobio says with no intention to answer further, slipping on his coat and wandering out the door.

Tobio walks away from school after practice completely and utterly empty. There is a hollow in his stomach the size of a full-grown watermelon, perfectly ripe and bursting at the seams. He remembers that he had brought some for lunch, where he sat alone in his classroom like always and ate, tracing the room with one eye shut. It hadn’t been very good, because it’s the middle of November and winter watermelons are in no way the sweetest, but he had eaten it regardless because it was there. It no longer sits nicely in his stomach. Tobio wishes he hadn’t eaten anything at all.

When Tobio gets home he doesn’t feel like practicing volleyball or working on his homework or eating any more of the watermelon that sits in a tub in his fridge. This almost never happens and is what makes him pay extra to what he does with his hands, to make sure he doesn’t start biting his nails. It’s been a few months since he ever had to worry about this feeling, the all-encompassing dig in his shoulders and throbbing in his head. 

The lights are too bright. The crickets are too loud. Tobio’s sheets feel weird under his hand, and if he pays extra close attention, he can taste bile in the back of his throat.

He takes a quick look over at his paper wastebasket, piled high with scrapped notebook paper from when he had gone ballistic over his guide. He needs to take that out, doesn’t he? Tobio becomes absently aware that it’s one of his chores for the week. He should really take it out. 

Tobio stumbles over to sit in front of his overflowing trash can and pulls out a single crumpled-up ball, unfolding it and reading the scraggly looking _Step one: find out what he hates_ written in his handwriting. This had been one of the first lists Tobio had attempted to write and he feels his hands start to ache for movement, for the comfort of a ball or a pen or a spoon. He still doesn’t want to practice or study or eat. 

He smooths out the lines of the paper and folds it in half, and then half again. Tobio can feel the way the top layer of his skin cells trace over the sides and the middle of the page, each crease a new cavity to explore with the nerve endings he doesn’t know what to do with. 

Tobio feels so, so small.

He ends up with a crane, something light and delicate that feels like nothing when he places it on his palm to look at. He thinks Miwa had first taught him how to make these when he was small and tottered about like a newborn deer, empty-headed and anxiety-free. This one’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s crisp and clean like his tosses, and it had distracted him for all of three minutes, so Tobio is pretty proud of it.

He dumps out all the paper onto his floor and begins to round out their wrinkles, too. It becomes mindless, the _fold, fold, flip_ , and another one comes out. Each pleat is another step made easy by repetition, another way to divert his mind from where it really wants to go. 

He isn’t thinking about Hinata, he isn’t thinking about biting his pointer finger down to a short little nub of a thing and smoothing it out with the edge of his nail file. It hurts to set with fingernails made red with irritation, and it hurts, even more, to imagine Hinata alone in his bedroom fucking up every math problem he attempts.

He hangs up each crane when he’s done with some string and tape he finds in his father’s office that he really isn’t supposed to go into in the first place. He doesn’t care much right now, though, when he can lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling and is able to see his handiwork.

“What do they mean again…” Tobio mumbles to the atmosphere that lies crisp against his limbs. “One thousand cranes and your wish will come true, right?”

Tobio guesses there’s probably about fifteen cranes dangling in front of his eyes, but definitely no more than twenty. His stomach grumbles with prolonged neglect, and he can barely gain enough strength to raise himself onto his feet and slink towards the kitchen. His house is eerily quiet. He thinks his sister left him some broccoli and chicken from a few days ago when she visited.

Stepping onto the main level with an empty _plop_ on hardwood floors, Tobio is met with a massive gust of cold wind, and he can see the window over the sink open just enough to let in the winter chill. He curses whoever did this (himself, this morning) and runs to close it, feeling goosebumps cover his skin, his hair standing on end.

He thinks back to the cranes hanging above his pillow, wishes silently for a happy ending, and proceeds to search for dinner.

—

Tobio sits on the opposite side of the gym. 

Tobio sits roughly 18 meters away from Hinata on the opposite side of the gym because it is all he has left. 

Karasuno does not win in the practice game against Datekou, but Tobio had almost kissed Hinata, had been oh so close to reaching out when his partner had gone and thrown a makeshift towel “crown” on his head, dripping with Hinata’s own sweat. He talked Tobio down from a severe lapse in self-awareness, and had recrowned him King of the Court, but with an entirely new meaning. One filled with hope, of acceptance, of a _team_. Tobio was _thrilled_.

Of course, that was until Hinata had decided to lob the entirety of his body weight onto Tobio’s back after a particularly good hit; Tobio had felt Hinata’s voice scrape the rim of his ear as he yelled at the top of his lungs, breath halting with a whoosh as he allowed his legs to wrap around Tobio’s middle. Tobio had thrown him off, of course he had, but Hinata in all his boundless energy and inability to see the seriousness of the things that would follow, pranced right in front of Tobio and stuck his tiny little button nose all in Tobio’s face. 

Tobio had grabbed him right around his jaw as gently as he was able to. This was it, wasn’t it? This was happening. Oh my _god_ , were Hinata’s cheeks soft, even covered in sweat from strenuous exercise. And the little wisps of hair sticking to his forehead, and the way his mouth purses like he knows just what Tobio wants more than anything, wants it too, even, and his pretty brown eyes staring at Tobio in shock and—

Shit.

_Shit. No, no nonononono._

Tobio ripped his fingers from the offending face and turned on his heel. He asked Ukai to take a short break. Ukai did not ask questions and sat him on the opposite side of the gym.

And so here Tobio is, crouching on the same sideline he and Stupidshima had found themselves at yesterday. He is restless with nerves, watching Suga make his way over to the players and greeting them happily, in that Suga way, the one with the smiles and the comfort and the sudden rush of 'I’m safe here', that Tobio is convinced he would never, ever be able to recreate.

He shifts nervously in his spot on the ground, rubbing his knees together in embarrassment, towel around his neck. Hinata is blabbering away as if nothing had even happened, as if just five minutes ago Tobio hadn’t almost _kissed_ him (the word feels so heavy on his tongue). He feels a growing nervous itch in the pit of his stomach, different from yesterday. He needs to _do_ something. His towel is starting to get cold.

Tobio slips on his coat unthinkingly, only trying to warm himself, when he feels the weight of a single piece of paper sit light in his right pocket. He shoves his hand in without a second thought, and begins to rub his finger up and down the length of the paper, against the flat middle like he had when folding the cranes last night, and eventually the sides, pushing hardest against the corners where the fold ends.

“Ouch!” Tobio hisses as he pulls his hand out of his coat pocket. “Fuck…”

He’s bleeding, just slightly, from a tiny little paper cut that runs down the middle of his thumb and it _stings_. This is not good. This is _not_ good.

“Kageyama! Are you okay?” And naturally, like it's the given laws of physics pulling dread into his orbit, there’s Hinata, the same one he just almost kissed five minutes ago, who he _really_ needs to be avoiding right now, who runs up with a look filled with grief because _Kageyama_ can’t be hurt. Who would set to him? Who would help him get better? Who would he defeat, at the end of the day? Tsukishima? Oikawa? What would Hinata do without his _precious_ partner? 

What would Hinata do if he found out what Tobio was thinking?

“I’m fine. Just a paper cut. Let me get a bandaid—”

Yachi gathers around where they stand. “Sorry, Kageyama-kun, we ran out of bandaids in the kit! I meant to restock them! Let me take you to the nurse…”

“It’s fine.” Tobio huffs, realizing he has no clue where he is supposed to be going. “Where is the nurse’s office?”

Tobio hears Tsukishima snort from where he stands and _god,_ if coach and Takeda and no one else was in here Tobio would be shouting, paper cut be damned.

Yachi comes with him despite protests not to, showing him through hallways and up two flights of stairs and it’s silent and awkward and Tobio feels absolutely stupid. Why did he rub his finger over the paper? What was the point? 

There isn’t anyone in the nurse’s office at the moment, so Yachi directs him to sit down on one of the makeshift beds and finds the emergency first aid kit they keep shoved in one of the drawers. Tobio is grateful that Yachi joined the volleyball club.

“You’re always so careful with your fingers, Kageyama-kun,” She looks down at him, handing him a bandaid and sitting to put antiseptic cream on his cut. “How’d you get the paper cut?”

Tobio can only blink up at her and shrug, a full-bodied shudder rippling through him when the Q-tip catches roughly on the broken skin.

Tobio knew if he tried to explain himself, he’d blurt out everything. What would he even say in the first place? Accident? Teenage angst? Fear? It’s definitely fear.

Being a “King” isn’t the scariest thing to him anymore. It’s not like Hinata ever cared about that anyway, not really.

It’s mostly the thought that his partner could just up and go, easily decide ‘Hey! You almost kissed me and that made me uncomfortable so I will be forming a duoship with Suga from now on!’, that first person he had been able to have, to care for, to work well with could just… disappear. Not unlike his middle school teammates, or his elementary school classmates, or anyone from anywhere who has ever given him the slightest amount of interest.

Not unlike Kazuyo, whose disappearance was not purposeful. That one had hurt the most.

Now, that? That is the scariest thing Tobio could think of, and that’s why he had rubbed his thumb harshly across the end of the piece of paper in his pocket. To remind himself to stop. You can’t lose him. You can’t lose the volleyball you have together. You _can’t_.

That’s how he got the paper cut, and why he is sitting in the empty nurse’s office while everyone else got to go home, his phone buzzing with notifications in his back pocket. There is only one person that ever texted him (Hinata) and only one reason he doesn’t respond (being a fucking coward). He makes another mental note, knowing exactly what to write down as soon as he gets home and lets his thumb rest.

> **5\. He is not your friend. No matter what anyone says. _Especially_ him.**

They have to win nationals. To win nationals, Tobio has to focus. To win nationals, Tobio can’t think of hands and eyes and hair and lips and Hinata Shouyou. He can’t think of kissing Hinata senseless after winning a single point and he absolutely cannot think about rubbing his thumbs into the dip of a collarbone instead of the sharp edge of a guide he had to make himself. He cannot think of coming back to see Hinata every day and playing volleyball in a park near their shared apartment or a little black cat. He cannot think far into the future, of a small wedding or both of them winning the Olympics, together, or a family with two happy children or even a home, all of their own. He can’t think. Tobio can’t think at all.

_He is not your friend, He is not your friend, He is not your friend, He is not your..._

—

They don’t win nationals.

—

They’re not fighting. Not really, not in the sense of the word as it applies to them, not in the way they did months prior during the summer camp. There is no conflict, no harsh words exchanged or following silence. They walk halfway home together. They go to Sakanoshita. They practice. They coexist.

There is verbal distance. It rolls in like a cold front and rains a heavy snowstorm on Tobio’s shoulders. It feels like everything is covered in frost when he steps too close to school, and his only escape is in sleep— he’s been going to bed suspiciously early lately, but neither of his parents has said anything, so Tobio thinks he’s okay. There are no blankets or indoor heating or fireplace even in the realm of dreams.

It is so, so, incredibly dark.

Hinata stops smiling. He stops laughing. He stops trotting around the school like a child at Christmas. He stops jumping onto people when they score. He stops… being. 

Tobio watches it happen and doesn’t say a word. Tobio stares off into the distance at tide fall, so dim and somber and barren and _wrong_. He glances at the sky, expecting to see the sun and stars above, but all Tobio can manage is the empty vat of air that hangs heavy on his head. Hinata loses the sparkle in his eyes and the fire within. 

He does say one thing, only to Ukai that Tobio catches by accident, about wanting to switch to beach volleyball after high school. About how he has to do everything, has to be free. Tobio allows him this too. It would be better if Hinata could play on his own, anyway.

The words still sting like he's already gone.

“Come over after practice today. To study.” He says to Tobio two weeks, four days and three hours after they lose nationals. These are the first words Hinata has said to him all day. Tobio prepares himself to say no.

_Number 4, number 4, number 4, number 4…_

“Okay.”

He curses himself the entire walk there.

—

Tobio and Hinata are far too close.

The overhead lights in Hinata’s house are a much more fluorescent blue tone than the pitch black of his room (which at its brightest is a singular yellow ceiling light), and it had taken a few seconds for Tobio’s eyes to adjust when he walked in. He finds it takes far less time than it would have a few years ago, however, and is annoyingly reminded that it probably has to do with one lightbulb-equivalent person who wears a number 10 jersey on game days and sits next to him now.

Hinata’s knee hits Tobio’s thigh and Tobio can feel his spine go rigid against the imaginary smog that covers the expanse of this house, leaving him winded with a lump in his throat. It smells _way_ too much like Hinata where they sit on the floor with barely any space between them, but the entirety of the house smells like Hinata, and Tobio can’t catch a break even when he trips over his own feet trying to get to the bathroom.

Tobio shouldn’t be here. He _really_ shouldn’t be here, with Hinata’s knee on his thigh and his arm so close to Hinata’s that the air is palpable between them.

~~**_2\. Do not let him touch you. Not in any context. Ever._ ** ~~

Tobio sees Hinata sneak glances at him, face flushed and eyes glazed, and if Tobio didn’t know any better he’d say Hinata was embarrassed too. He takes the chance to look down at the math work Hinata is supposed to be plowing through and sees a blank page and a number one written without any attempt to solve the problem.

It reminds him of the paper in his back pocket, and Tobio whips his head back around.

This a waste of time. They could be playing volleyball if they’re not going to work on homework, and Hinata had done shittily at practice, not paying attention. Tobio wonders if it has to do with his answer to Hinata’s request, and guilt overtakes any ability he had to complete his homework or play volleyball or exist rationally within sixty miles of Hinata Shouyou. 

Where are Hinata’s volleyballs? His room is so messy. Tobiowants to go outside and play, is tired of sitting in this stuffy room, and since volleyball is the most fun with Hinata, it only makes sense, right?

_~~**3\. Stop associating volleyball back to him.** ~~ _

The silence is somehow more overwhelming than their constant bickering and rolling and tumbling and wresting, and Tobio just wishes he could not feel. What is the point of feelings, anyway; to make you agonize until you break? To ruin your life and make you fall in love with the person who holds the first platonic attachment you create? This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. 

The sun is setting. What time is it? Tobio should be going home.

“Hinata.” He musters up the courage to speak out into the quiet. It is much louder than he intended. “I should be going home, soon.”

Hinata looks appalled and pulls Tobio flush against his side, to hold him steady. “What? No, we haven’t even finished.”

“I can do the rest on my own.” Tobio removes his arm from Hinata’s grasp.

“Just stay the night, instead,” Hinata responds like it’s obvious. “It’s far over the mountain, and I just want you to do this one thing for me, later. Please.”

_~~**4\. When he asks you to do something, say no.** ~~ _

“I really don’t think you should ask me to do stuff for you,” Tobio mumbles quietly and stands with a rush. “I think it’s better if I just stay away. I should probably go—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” Hinata bristles from the floor. “Have I done something wrong? I thought we had something going, for a bit, and then you just walk out? You barely talk to me even at practice! You just sit on the sidelines and watch! That’s not like you!”

Tobio did not plan for confrontation today. He did not plan for confrontation at all.

“It’s what you would want, dumbass! I know you would want me to leave you alone if you knew what was going on, and—”

“I _don’t_ want that, Kageyama!” Hinata hops up onto his feet and fists his hands in Tobio’s shirt like it’s the only thing grounding him to the floor. Tobio barely catches himself after fumbling, yet it’s enough to keep his legs from wobbling. He wills them to stay put. “I _want_ you to be here, at my house, where I live, working on homework together. I _want_ you to be my partner! I _want_ you to be my friend!” 

**_~~5\. He is not your friend. No matter what anyone says. _Especially_ him.~~ _ **

He settles into Tobio’s chest with a weak sob, absent of tears that are threatening to spill over, and Tobio collapses alongside him, his knees finally giving out. He crumbles, each Vitamin D deficient cell in his body going slack against headrush as he falls to the floor, and every feeling he had been pretending he could will away can no longer stay hidden, can’t stay sealed away in the vaults he keeps to stow away memories and emotions he doesn’t want to think about. 

No more subdued than fireworks or dynamite or Coach Ukai Senior during practice, Tobio can only breathe in, nose buried in Hinata’s hair. He is a tied-up bundle of leftover firewood watching each layer of his skin flake off into the flames, just to keep them steady. 

They sit like that for a while, on Hinata's wooden floors, drinking in the presence of each other and the distance that had grown into familiarity closes with a muted click of a door handle. They will have to speak eventually. Tobio does not want to know what will happen when they do.

Hinata is the first to voice his thoughts. “I _want_ you to be here. Not just at my house, but when we win nationals next year and when we graduate and when I beat you, finally, whenever that is, and all the time. You can’t just go away because you think it’s what I’d want.” 

“I can’t. Hinata, I can’t.”

Tobio lifts his cheek off the top of Hinata’s head and lets his eyes gaze down at wet ones, peering up at him through light eyelashes Tobio had been trying to not see. They sparkle. Tobio is very curious about whether it’s from the tears and persistently tries not to bury his face in his hands.

“Why not?” Hinata punches him right where he fists Tobio’s shirt. “You’re always so cryptic, and I know you can’t change that about yourself, and I don’t want you to. But you have to _talk_ to me sometimes, okay, you have to say something, tell me what’s going on when you're not okay and—”

He can’t take this anymore. 

Kageyama Tobio kisses Hinata Shouyou, his sworn enemy and partner all the same, on the mouth and breaks about sixteen rules that shouldn’t even have to be written down. He kisses Hinata Shouyou on the mouth and he should be pulling _away_ , now, Tobio, and—

Hinata Shouyou is kissing him back.

Tobio makes a surprised noise where they meet, nothing more than a press of lips, and attempts to pull back and ask what the hell is going on, but Hinata lets go of his shirt to fit his palms around Tobio’s cheeks and chase him to where his back now hits the bed.

They only stay there for a second before Hinata pushes back, gasping.

“You, Kageyama Tobio, are the dumbest person I’ve ever met in my life.” He grins, and Tobio is completely lost in the crinkles that shape around the corners of his mouth, the way his chest heaves in breathlessness or reprieve, Tobio can’t tell, and the gleam in his eyes. The one that had been missing.

Tobio remembers what he had forgotten, now.

“You tried to kiss me that one time at the practice game, right?” Hinata hops over to sit on Tobio’s thighs, and Tobio instinctively rests his hand over Hinata’s heart. This is so much closer, much more contact than a gentle brush of forearms or a stray finger lingering when passing a ball to the other or stretching before practice. Tobio can feel his heartbeat in his throat. “That wasn’t me dreaming? You really tried to kiss me?”

Tobio almost capsizes but manages to nod, somehow. “... Yeah.”

“Awesome.” 

Hinata kisses him first this time. It is softer, warm just like the skin underneath cloth where Tobio’s palm rests on his partner’s chest. He allows it to trail down and sit at Hinata’s hip, letting out a satisfied trembling breath through his nose onto Hinata’s cheek.

They sit there, for a while, not really knowing what to do because Tobio is positive this is both their first kiss. Hinata’s hands travel down Tobio’s shoulders, his biceps, his forearms before meeting his hand where it rests of his side, squeezing softly, a little reminder that he is here. It is as warm and familiar as every bit of affection Tobio has ever received in his life, but his heart is light instead of heavy and he has no intention to shy away.

“Wait.” Tobio is the one to break, his hand tracing absent-minded patterns into Hinata’s hipbone. “I like you.”

Hinata grins and showers little butterfly kisses along the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. “I know. I like you too.”

They can’t stay away for long, because they’re two dumb teenagers in love (Hinata Shouyou _likes_ Tobio, he _likes_ him), and move back to each other like they are oxygen tanks at the top of Mt. Fuji, hands on cheeks and tangled in hair and suddenly Tobio is muttering I love you into Hinata’s lips and Hinata is muttering it back. 

It’s no different than any other kiss; there are no sparks or flowers or curse being lifted— this isn’t one of the storybooks from Tobio’s childhood or the romcoms his sister likes to binge-watch on Netflix when she sleeps over— but Tobio has imagined this again and again and there doesn’t have to be falling feathers or fireworks for this to be the best thing that’s ever happened. Hinata is pliant and soft and happy under his palms and he tastes like the crackers his mother had brought them earlier, which Tobio thinks would be incredibly offputting if it had been anyone else but Hinata. 

Kissing is almost _gross_ , if Tobio thinks too long about it, with all the mouth touching and spit swapping and shared breath, but he lights up from the inside out every time Hinata moves his nails down Tobio’s scalp in long, comforting strokes, and he doesn’t think about the saliva and the air as much. He relishes in the feeling of the one thing he thought he couldn’t have and wonders why he ever thought he couldn’t have it in the first place.

Tobio wants to kiss Hinata for a long, long time, probably forever, but doesn’t know if dating rules allow you to promise your eternity to someone you just confessed to half an hour ago. Tobio also doesn’t know if there is _any_ set of rules that allow you to promise to stand on the world stage with your rival a few weeks after being forced to cooperate with them, feet planted on the steps up to your club room. He and Hinata have never really been conventional, Tobio thinks. He tells Hinata so, in between attaching and detaching himself from his lips, and Hinata laughs.

“It wouldn’t be us if we were _normal_ , Kageyama!”

Tobio wonders if, in between chasing after each other, they will get to do this more. He really hopes so.

They eventually have to detangle from their mess of limbs and hands and lips and pretend they’re done with their homework (they’re definitely not), slipping notebooks and pencils into their bags. Tobio phones his mom to inform her he would be sleeping at a friend’s house (“Tell Hinata’s mother I say thank you!” is the only response he gets before she hangs up, clearly busy), and as soon as he clicks the “end call” button with a hesitant press of his finger, Hinata is dragging him back down onto the bed to kiss him lazily until the sky turns the shade of the end of time. 

His hands leave scorch marks on Tobio’s skin instead of scars, and the stars are back where they belong.

They don’t do anything, really, besides share this new thing they have together, these feelings Tobio had been pretending weren't there. It feels so easy like this, with Hinata dozing off underneath the steady brushing of bangs out of his face, and Tobio can feel each little puff of breath escape past Hinata’s mouth, flushed and swollen, when Tobio’s hands cross over the part in his lips. It doesn’t feel like anything has changed, moreover, simply another piece to add to the puzzle, just another step into the unknown.

Hinata is with him, now. He always has been, and Tobio forgets so easily whatever he had been worried about. Doesn’t it just make sense, like this? Isn’t this exactly what had been intended for him? 

What color was that field mouse, again?

—

Hinata’s mother yells across the house to them a little later, because it’s been hours, somehow, and “Dinner is going to get cold if you don’t hurry!”. Tobio had never understood the meaning of ‘Time flies when you’re having fun’ until now.

He finds himself hopelessly shoveling hotpot fixings into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in three weeks, and Tobio can’t tell if this is the best soup he’s ever had or if it just tastes that way because he’s eating with Hinata and his family. The Hinata that is his boyfriend, _his_ boyfriend, Tobio’s _boyfriend_ , who he doesn’t have to pretend doesn’t exist, he doesn’t have to shy away from when Hinata rubs his foot against Tobio’s calf, and oh my god, that is definitely Hinata’s ankle on his leg and—

Hinata laughs into his bowl like a smug little gremlin, and Tobio knows exactly why because he can feel his face turning almost as red as what they’re eating. Tobio reminds himself to ask Hinata’s mother what spices she uses for this soup so he can try and recreate it, by himself or with his sister or anytime, really. He finally has a new comfort food besides his grandfather’s curry. 'First time at Hinata’s hotpot' is what he will title this dish.

“What’s so funny, Nii-chan?" Hinata's little sister, Natsu, asks from the chair she sits on. She is just as small and red and hyper as her brother and is, by all odds, utterly not scared of Tobio. She has lots to say. Runs in the family, Tobio supposes. Genetics are terrifying.

“Nothing!” Hinata sing-songs innocently, like the bastard he is. Tobio knows this is going to be hell. It basically already was (Tobio had to write a whole _rule_ about not touching him), having Hinata be affectionate as his friend, only able to tell him to knock it off so many times before he got all whiny, but Tobio can just tell he is going get more demandingly playful as time goes on. Tobio is not entirely sure he will be able to handle it.

He’s going to try anyway because he’s _still_ not a quitter.

"You dumbass—"

"Boys and Natsu! Stop messing around while you eat!" Hinata's mother calls from the kitchen, and they all shut up after that.

After dinner the two of them change, they wash, they float on legs made of jelly and skip a futon. Tobio knows his heart hasn’t slowed since six pm, with that first meeting of lips, and as they hop into the confines of Hinata’s double bed, he realizes he can feel Hinata’s heart racing too. 

Before he allows himself to rest, Tobio jots down one last note, the one to end his guide, with only his phone flashlight to guide his hand. It is the shortest step, the simplest, and Tobio doesn’t have to click his pen more than once. No annoyance. No ritual.

He finds his lines. He steadies his hand. He doesn’t have to wait for inspiration to strike him, because he has a vision of a fairytale laying beside him, snoring softly. He writes.

> **6\. Give up.**

Tobio doesn’t need to wish for sweet dreams or a happy ending, anymore. 

He quickly jots down a little title, since it only seems fair to explain what his guide is for. He gets up to put the thin piece of paper back in his backpack, in a file folder that is supposed to be for English but that he has never used a single time in his sixteen years of life, tiptoes quietly under the covers once again (he lets Hinata be the big spoon), and sleeps.

His dreams are peaceful. He doesn’t remember much of anything before the point he has waded out of murky waters, but he doesn’t really need to. 

The sky is blue. The trees that sit in even rows spread to show sunrise, and an expanse of green land that folds over hilltops and dives over valleys almost blinds Tobio as he adjusts his position on the bank. He is very aware that he can see.

“I’m glad you remembered, Tobio.” The little field mouse squeaks from its place perched on Tobio’s shoulder, resting its head in its hands where it props up on its elbows. They have left the marsh behind them to its own devices, no longer concerned with muck and rubble, uncharacteristically docile cattails, or pond animals. “The sun cannot shine if you don’t allow the night to end.”

“Yeah.” Tobio nods in turn.

The sun raises itself slowly from the covers of the land, light rays licking shadows upon the fields beyond their eyes. There are a few clouds advancing forth in an attempt to steal sunshine from the star’s grasps once it finds itself fully risen, but the sun blazes bright and does not give a second glance.

Tobio cannot help but believe at this moment, with his tiny field mouse breathing softly by his ear and the picture of a fairytale ending given to him so freely, that the sun will always greet those that are patient enough to stop and let it rise.

Tobio finds his eyes drawn to each orange and pink and red that the daylight creates, but also the way it feels delicate on his face, brushes warm touches over his cheeks and his sides and his smile. There is still no need for explanation, in this dream or any. He already knows.

He watches. He does not think to swing back around and search for something that had been just around the corner.

When Tobio blinks his eyes open as he rouses in a bed that isn’t his own, his arm trapped underneath something solid and soft, he sees the mouse once again; much larger, with the same unruly orange hair and beady eyes that stare at him, warm and bright. His vision is slightly blurry, but he doesn’t know what from. 

Tobio can still feel the sunshine on his face.

“Morning, Kageyama.” Hinata greets, waking as well, and Tobio watches him stretch and twist and rise in his own Hinata way, energy radiating from his person. He yawns and smoothes a finger under Tobio’s eye, a little tear that spills over his cheek coming off with the gentle press of his boyfriend’s thumb. “Bad dream?”

Tobio shakes his head, with no need for words, knowing with utmost certainty that he will never turn his back on the sun again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not ask me if I am emotionally well I do not need to explain myself please refer to this fic for guidance


	2. and the strength needed to hold them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is significantly shorter compared to the last one, and does not have to be read if you're uninterested, but I just wanted to write a little thing about them post timeskip cause I’m ill

Whether they’re apart or together, nothing really changes.

Hinata— _Shouyou,_ Tobio is still not quite used to that— gets back from Brazil on an early Friday morning, and Tobio has every intention and more to be the one to pick him up. But because his sneaky boyfriend is a little sappy shit and “We were apart for two years, Tobio, you can live for a few more weeks!”, he asks him to wait.

He calls Tobio two minutes after getting accepted into the MSBY Black Jackals, and thirty seconds after he finds out the date they will be playing the Adlers.

(“It’s _fate_!” His voice is shaky over the phone, but Tobio doesn’t mind. “Who knew you’d be the first person I would ever play on a professional team!”)

Tobio waits. He waits and waits and waits for a whole month, an entire month with no direct contact with his _boyfriend_ for god’s sake (he loves that word) and he is about to go insane. He has been so patient. He has been so strong. This is probably the hardest thing he’s done since he wished Shouyou his final farewell at the airport two years and one month ago.

And then he sees him outside the bathroom. He sees Shouyou singing his silly little toilet song outside of a gym bathroom like when they first met in middle school and it is every romantic parallel that he never cared for. Tobio has suddenly become very aware of whatever Shakespeare was going on about in every single one of his stories. 

It takes every individual muscle in his body to stop himself from charging at full speed and lifting Hinata into the air, as close to the sky as he can get because he just _fits_ there, all that splendor far too bright for the boring ground below their feet. 

He looks, instead, from his place a few feet away, watches his human tangerine who’s tan has faded since coming home, who has definitely put on muscle that wasn’t completely obvious through a webcam, who is beautiful in all the same ways and so many new ones Tobio has yet to explore. 

“Not gonna have any bowel issues today, are you?”

Tobio hears a tiny breathy gasp, and before he knows it Shouyou is the one doing the charging, flinging himself right into Tobio’s chest, nuzzling into the crevice where his collar meets his shoulder. He doesn’t even remember when he opened his arms.

“I missed you _soooo_ much,” Shouyou drawls out the so to make his point clear, but his face is buried in Tobio’s neck and Tobio struggles to make out the words. “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever.”

Tobio tries especially hard not to cry into ( _way_ too unrealistically orange) curls at the top of his boyfriend’s head. They’re short, chopped off since the last time he saw them, and even though Tobio has known (they both send many selfies), it is still somewhat of a shock how they feel against his cheek, his nose, his forehead. Tobio decides he likes this new haircut very much.

“I missed you,” Tobio says. He knows he is blushing, and he doesn’t care. “Move in with me.”

Shouyou grins right at Tobio like he had set the universe into motion and put the stars in the sky. “No. _You_ move in with _me_.”

Tobio is just about to respond with a smile of his own when Miya Atsumu decides this is the perfect time to step out from the locker room and stare at them with a look steeped in exasperation and fondness. “Can ya tone down the PDA before the game? Not all of us are madly in love, ya know.”

He looks exactly the same as high school, despite someone clearly introducing him to the idea of purple shampoo and a new hair cut (Miwa would be proud), and Tobio knows he still probably wouldn’t be able to tell him or Osamu apart.

“Speak for yourself, Atsumu!” Shouyou’s arms and legs retreat out from their hiding place and he plops down onto the floor, facing his teammate. “I know exactly what you and Sak—”

Atsumu hurries to shove his hand over Shouyou’s mouth, who was clearly about to overshare. “Okay, okay! Hush! Can’t have the competition knowing all my secrets. Or yers! Our wing spiker deserves his privacy!”

“No worries!” Shouyou smiles blindingly when Atsumu removes his hand. “Tobio doesn’t know what my playing is like at all!”

“But he knows all your other secrets, I bet!” Bokuto storms out of the changing room next. “Just like Akaashi knows all of mine!”

Atsumu’s expression loses the fondness and resorts to only exasperation. “That’s because ya _tell_ him.” 

Ushijima moves out from the door Tobio had left just five minutes before. This is turning into a party, rather than a lover’s reunion. “Tell who what? Don’t tell your opponent anything. It’s better to settle things on a fair playing field.”

“And now everything just gets more complicated…”

“No, don’t worry, I didn't tell Tobio anything about how well I play!” Shouyou takes a big leap to once again grab Tobio around the middle. 

Bokuto follows closely behind to meet them all in the center of the commotion. “Ushiwaka! Tell me all your secrets!”

“About my playing?”

Atsumu tries to backpedal to no avail. “See what you’ve done?”

“Hi, Ushijima! It’s been a while.” Shouyou untangles himself from his boyfriend for the second time today and makes his way over to Ushijima in a friendly greeting. Tobio follows each movement of the muscles in his legs as he walks. He wants to play this game. ASAP.

Heavy, hulking footsteps with a spring in their step come bounding out of the Adler’s changing room.

“HINATA SHOUYOU!” Tobio can hear the bolded text in Hoshiumi’s voice. “YOU’RE HERE!”

“Ah, Hoshiumi! Hi!” 

Hoshiumi grins (like a seagull) and cackles (very seagull-sounding). Tobio is still unclear if he really isn’t an ocean bird, even though his hair now lays flat on his head. Wait, but don’t seagull have flat feathers, too? “How tall are you now?!”

“Hoshiumi, didn’t you already check that on the MSBY site earlier?” Tobio does not need to ask. He remembers very clearly Hoshiumi’s (seagull-like) cheer of joy when he discovered he was taller. He will look up more seagull facts when he gets home.

Hoshiumi tells Tobio to shut up under his breath. Maybe his search history is supposed to be a secret.

“One hundred seventy-two point two centimeters!” Shouyou sounds like sunshine. Is it possible to sound like sunshine? Shouyou defies all the other laws of science anyway, so another one couldn’t hurt.

“HAH! I win!” 

It is becoming increasingly evident that Hoshiumi just wanted to declare he won.

There is creak from the other side, where the door Atsumu and Bokuto both came from lies, and a low, rumbling voice brimming with remnants of teenage angst and hospital-grade cleaning products calls out in the group’s direction. Tobio watches Atsumu grimace.

“You’d better have all gotten your flu shots.”

And with this last entry by one Sakusa Kiyoomi, that makes the whole crew.

Sakusa waltzes up to the gathering, hands in pockets, ever-present mask hanging off his ears. He ignores Atsumu’s grief and greets only “Wakatoshi-kun”, threatening him with certain victory. There is idle chatter, of course there is, but unlike U-19 back when Tobio was fifteen and scared of himself, this is nice. He thinks of Shouyou’s last jump of their first game against Shiratorizawa like he did at the dining table years ago. He keeps thinking because he no longer needs to force himself to stop.

 _Shouyou looks so nice in his new uniform. Did he choose 21 on purpose, because I'm 20? Oh, now Atsumu is on the floor because he told an awful joke I do_ n' _t understand. Shouyou is kind to reassure his embarrassed teammate. Why is he so friendly and kind and nice and handsome? There has to be a rule written somewhere that your opponent can’t be that handsome. Oh, shit… Shouyou is my opponent, today._

Tobio suddenly aches, desperate to play his boyfriend in their first real, official game since they were thirteen. 

So he does.

—

“And with one last straight shot from Bokuto Koutarou, number 12, crafted perfectly with outstanding decoy work from Hinata Shouyou, the MSBY Black Jackals take the last set and the game!”

“Wait, look… Is that Kageyama Tobio, headed under the net?… Towards Hinata? Oh. This is— not something the camera should be training on, probably...”

“You got that right! Coaches, separate your players!”

—

Tobio’s stuff arrives at Shouyou’s apartment 16 hours after the game ends. He chooses to note he will wake up every morning and praise the world for emergency moving companies.

“I already knew you were a nostalgia buff, but how many old photographs of me do you have?” Shouyou huffs, skimming through the files Tobio had previously stored for safekeeping (emphasis on _safe_ ) under the twin bed back at his old apartment. He wasn’t attached to that house at all, so leaving felt natural, like skipping down to the convenience shop for another banana milk and a cup of fruit, if he was feeling like it. 

“You’re pretty,” Is the only answer Tobio gives, placing his head down gently on Shouyou’s shoulder in order to look at the album he’s flipping through. Shouyou mid-jump, Shouyou just waking up, Shouyou the first time he ever put on one of Tobio’s shirts, swimming in it. Shouyou at the shrine on New Years, backlit by the sun, Shouyou tucked under Tobio’s chin, Shouyou right before he took off for Brazil.

Tobio doesn’t think he could ever choose a favorite, and that’s the reality of why he kept all of them. Because while the muse of his admittingly mediocre photography work was over eighteen thousand kilometers away, this was about as close as he could get to the real thing. About two hundred and fifty or so mismatched fragments of a boy worth a ten thousand-piece puzzle.

He squeezes Shouyou lightly, just to make sure he’s real. Tobio comes to the conclusion he is and sighs in relief. 

_This_ is home. Not a twin bed or a box of photos or crappy convenience store food. 

“Hey!” Shouyou exclaims, suddenly. “What’s this?”

He digs his fingers into a paper folder towards the back. Tobio doesn’t even remember what’s in most of the box, instead having chosen to flip through the same photographs and cry-ramble over text to his boyfriend while he was asleep. Shouyou whips out a sorry-looking KitKat wrapper from probably a million years ago that was sticking out of the top of the folder, scrunching his nose. 

“How old _is_ this, Tobio?” Tobio ignores the question, shrugging, and turns Shouyou’s face a solid thirty degrees in order to rub his nose against the other. Tobio can definitely see freckles, now. Shouyou grasps blindly in front of him as Tobio fights for his attention. “Wait! There’s a piece of paper!”

“Hm? Is that so?” 

Shouyou peels back the file, practically caked in dirt and grime, almost gray in color. Tobio is definitely going to make him wash his hands after this.

He pulls out a seemingly innocent, flimsy little sheet, folded in the middle, gridlines small and delicate. It looks like it would disintegrate into dust at the slightest mishandling, but Shouyou holds it by the paper clip at the top to keep it solid. Tobio can see the telltale sign of bleeding ink marks where he had written something on the inside.

Tobio definitely recognizes this piece of paper.

Dropping his arms from around Shouyou’s middle, he attempts to grab it, “Shou, wait—”

“ _The Six-Step Guide to Getting Over Hinata Shouyou, By Kageyama Tobio_!” Shouyou practically belts like a show tune, “Tobio, what is this?”

How was he supposed to get out of this one, exactly? _I played a prank on a friend!_ Tobio didn’t have any friends during high school, besides Shouyou. _I must’ve written that when I was drunk!_ Tobio only drinks socially, and very limited amounts, and _definitely_ didn’t drink at all when the note was written. _I had a crush on you and didn’t know what to do about it!_...

Direct approach it would have to be.

“I, uh...” Tobio starts, “During high school, I had a crush on you. And thought it would damage our relationship or volleyball. And so I wrote myself a guide.”

“Awwww!” Shouyou spins in his place to crawl into Tobio’s lap. “That’s so cute, you had a crush on me!”

Tobio knocks him upside the head, Shouyou falling from his recently secured spot onto the floor with a cry of agony, before he backtracks. “Wait. You don’t think that’s weird?”

“Why would I think it was weird?” Shouyou looks vaguely confused, sitting up and rubbing the back of his scalp with his palm. “I tried to get over you, too. However, I didn’t have to write a guide…”

“Oi.”

Shouyou giggles like some sort of angel from old renaissance art and Tobio questions whether he saved a family from a burning building in his past life in order to have this. “Well, you don’t need it anymore! Seems like the last step had you figured out, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Tobio knocks his forehead against his boyfriend’s lightly. “I didn’t last long.”

Shouyou suddenly jumps up, ramming into Tobio in the process. They both hiss gently before the smaller of the two bellows out a low, “I’m gonna laminate it.”

“Wait, Shou, no—”

It's far too late to try and stop him, his little legs soaring lengths farther than any person once he got going, but Tobio still takes off after the figure flying down his— no, _their_ — hallway and knows that this is exactly what his grandfather meant.

—

Tobio watches Shouyou sweep around their friends and coworkers, chatting up every person that had come, but he always makes sure to glance back at Tobio where he leans against the counter every once in a while in order to shoot his world-renowned beaming smile right at him from afar.

They had decided to have a little housewarming/BJs-beat-the-Adlers get together the day after the move-in date, seeing as they both had time off before their next (respective) games and all their old friends were preparing to leave for their various places of residence. A party was the obvious choice of event, really, because Shouyou is Shouyou, social butterfly as he is, in love with the idea of celebrating each little good thing that happens, and because Tobio is in love with Shouyou. 

Tobio loves observing his way-too-hospitable boyfriend in his natural habit, seemingly finding mutualistic relationships with each and every “monster” from their generation. He also has a good time listening in to others conversations, now that they’re mutually exclusive with accidentally catching people talking behind his back. Playing detective is a fun pastime, even if he’s not the best at it. 

His old teammates sit in some giddy circle playing a game of truth or dare like they were back in high school, smiles apparent and laughter ringing from the more boisterous of the lot (mostly Tanaka). Based on Asahi’s facial expression filled with horror and his white-knuckled grip around the phone at his ear, Tobio presumes someone had dared him to call Noya at whatever time in Italy it was now. He is absolutely not envious, but wonders if he should join anyway. Maybe later.

Sakusa and Atsumu sit a little ways away on his and Shouyou’s run-down old couch (Shouyou had promised he would be buying a new one). It looks suspiciously nauseating, and Tobio really doubts Sakusa had sat there willingly. They seem to be having a very heated conversation about one of the last plays of the game, where Sakusa had almost narrowly missed a high set, but Tobio is distracted by the little room between them in their place on the sagging cushions. Sakusa’s knee does not flinch from where it almost touches Atsumu’s. 

Komori sits a seat away, glancing over at their conversation every once in a while and staring blankly at them, his face twisted in a grimace of horror. He downs his alcohol and gets up to get more, grumbling about “Stupid couples” and “Gross.” and “I miss my team… Suna...” and “What about your old cousin, huh? Your best friend? Hello _ooo_ oo?”. Tobio will have to ask Shouyou about that later.

Ushijima had almost accidentally caused a spontaneous Psychedelic Synth Folk (no, Tobio does not know what that is either) concert when he expressed his interest in seeing Semi’s band perform. Tobio was nearly unable to stop the latter from immediately crawling onto the counters and is still amazed at his ability to somehow summon a bass guitar out of nowhere. Ushijima now sits upright at the other end of the counter Tobio is leaning against. He looks peaceful, and Tobio does not wish to disturb him.

Romero is asleep. 

Bokuto has been joined by Akaashi and the mangaka of the horror series Akaashi is editing, who happens to be Udai Tenma, original Little Giant of Miyagi. Shouyou has been freaking out all night despite his unwillingness to admit so, pretending like he has gotten over the rush of existing around his childhood hero, regardless of the absence of wanting to be his successor. He had cleaned the house four times. Tobio has never seen someone vacuum with so much vigor in his life. Udai seems to be in a predicament similar to Komori’s and looks on at Bokuto and Akaashi in anguish.

Hoshiumi has already broken a platter because Hirugami, his keeper, was caught up in veterinarian work. Tobio does not wish to look at him for the rest of the evening and so ignores the shrill screech from the back room, choosing to instead postpone his room-surfing to search for the real man of the hour, who has apparently vanished from thin air.

Maybe Shouyou had gone to the bathroom. It wouldn’t be unlikely since Tobio remembers seeing a cup in his hand at one point, and Shouyou has made an obnoxious habit since Brazil of getting all pissy (literally) when drunk. He goes to trail down the hallway, nothing more than a braindead, shipwrecked sailor looking for shelter, but an arm grabs him as he takes his first step and Tobio stops to spin on his heel. 

There he is.

“Having fun, Tobio?” Shouyou cackles loudly like some vulture circling its prey from the skies. He is so transparent and bright and beautiful like this, posture slightly looser from the glass or two of ominous whiskey Tanaka had placed alongside their wine. He is pitch black fever that overcompensates for his overly-colorful appearance, disgusting flowery dress shirt as uniform harmony to the yellow color he had chosen to be the accent wall in their bedroom. June Day is the name, Tobio remembers Shouyou saying for apparently no reason at all. Shouyou is that paint, but he is also the dark finish of their door. He is everything, and he is nothing.

Tobio thinks Hinata “Greatest Decoy” Shouyou should be in the Guinness Book Of World Records for being the first and only human juxtaposition to ever live.

He can somehow feel his body heat from his toes to the top of his head when he catches Shouyou’s eye, trained only on his face. Tobio doesn’t think he will ever get used to this, but his honey-sweet, sunshine-warm boyfriend suddenly looks nervous when Tobio doesn’t respond, Tobio noting his teeth nipping at the edge of his lip (he is a self-titled “Shouyou Facial Expressions Connoisseur”, after all), and nods hastily in hopes to interrupt any and all damage he is worried he’ll cause. 

“Do you know I love you?”

The question is whispered and delicate out of Shouyou's mouth, but it feels huge in the atmosphere of the room, with people scattered nearby. 

Shouyou doesn’t ask him serious things without purpose, not since unintentionally forcing Tobio to tell him his life story in their second year after questioning Tobio’s empty home and his busy parents and a picture of his sister and grandfather sitting on a dusty shelf in his living room, and so Tobio thinks very long and hard. It’s only fair to give the question the same care as he would give any of Shouyou’s concerns.

He thinks back to when he was thirteen and first met Shouyou outside a dingy old bathroom in a building that felt like second nature to him. He remembers the way this boy— his opponent— poured fuel into the fire he was worried was going out. He won, but it was numbing. An ice bath.

_The water was still dirty._

He remembers what he was like when he was fourteen and won a practice game with a quick that worked. He can still feel the toss on his fingers, his grandfather’s words tattooed on his skin.

_When you move your arms through the waves, sometimes the dirt clears a little, but you can’t quite see the bottom._

He doesn’t really know what his life would’ve been without Shouyou— whether it would’ve continued to fissure and break until he was nothing but a hollow shell of a boy with a sullen face and empty promises. It would not be like this, that's for certain, with the background noise of a dinner party filled with laughter, or a tender hand on his arm or an apartment, all for him and the boy he loves. 

_Sometimes, Tobio thinks, you don’t even have to look in the water at all. Not everything is there, not by a long shot, and he can’t recall a single story where someone found happiness in the mud._

Tobio supposes that if the ring in his back pocket meant absolutely nothing to anyone, if the contagious glint in Shouyou’s gaze hadn’t found it’s place in Tobio’s, if the universe was able to fold itself into a seven cm long crane like each scrap of notebook paper that still lives in his childhood home, then maybe there would be a faultline collapsing where the sky meets the sun, where shadows cross over into the haze of daylight, and maybe the answer would be no. 

“Yes.”

But there isn’t. His ring is the happy ending he had dreamed of, and that familiar gleam is still present in both sets of eyes. The universe is shaped like a donut, according to science, and is not sentient. It is unable to do origami when it’s anxious. There are stars in the sky, as far as he’s aware, even if Shouyou once tried to convince him they were eyes (he’s ninety-eight percent sure they’re not). Tobio loves Shouyou, and Shouyou loves him back.

“Great.” Shouyou reaches up to clasp his arms loosely around Tobio’s shoulders and kiss him square on the mouth, and Tobio very quickly stops thinking about the question. In fact, he doesn’t think about anything at all, nothing except the way Shouyou’s just tall enough to lean into his chest and how he needs to buy some chapstick at the store, because his lips are slightly dry.

And if anyone in his prior situation was to ask Tobio how exactly he handled his little infatuation with his partner, how he managed to score a shot with the tiny wing spiker that blew the entirety of the men’s volleyball world away with a single game, how he could wind up kissing an angel in the safety of their living room, he’d only have a laminated slip of paper and two words to give.

_Good luck._

**Author's Note:**

> It turns out shouyou had a ring too. they propose at the same time. imagine being soulmates... gross  
> the final six-step guide for anyone that needs it (aka me. i need it Hinata I’m in love with u please break up with ur boyfriend flopyama is nothing please I) is:
> 
> 1\. Avoid him like ~~the plague~~ a flubbed set.  
> 2\. Do not let him touch you. Not in any context. Ever.  
> 3\. Stop associating volleyball back to him.  
> 4\. When he asks you to do something, say no.  
> 5\. He is not your friend. No matter what anyone says. Especially him.  
> 6\. Give up.
> 
> [twitter](https://www.Twitter.com/lysihtea)


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